them lest the horses put their feet in ’em; an’ there’s Injuns, who’ll look out pretty sharp for us if they once get wind that we're in them parts.”
“Oui, yis, mes boys; and there’s rain, and tunder, and lightin’,” added Henri, pointing to a dark cloud which was seen rising on the horizon ahead of them.
“It’ll be rain,” remarked Joe; “but there’s no thunder in the air jist now. We’ll make for yonder clump o’ bushes and lay by till it’s past.”
Turning a little to the right of the course they had been following, the hunters galloped along one of the hollows between the prairie waves before mentioned, in the direction of a clump of willows. Before reaching it, however, they passed over a bleak and barren plain where there was neither flower nor bird. Here they were suddenly arrested by a most extraordinary sight—at least it was so to Dick Varley, who had never seen the like before. This was a colony of what Joe called “prairie-dogs.” On first beholding them Crusoe uttered a sort of half growl, half bark of surprise, cocked his tail and ears, and instantly prepared to charge; but he glanced up at his master first for permission. Observing that his finger and his look commanded “silence,” he dropped his tail at once and stepped to the rear. He did not, however, cease to regard the prairie-dogs with intense curiosity.
These remarkable little creatures have been egregiously misnamed by the hunters of the west, for they bear not the slightest resemblance to dogs, either in formation or habits. They are, in fact, the marmot, and in size are little larger than squirrels, which animals they resemble in some degree. They burrow under the light soil, and throw it up in mounds like moles.
Thousands of them were running about among their dwellings when Dick first beheld them; but the moment they caught sight of the horsemen rising over the ridge they set up a tremendous hubbub of consternation. Each little beast instantly mounted guard on the top of his house, and prepared, as it were, “to receive cavalry.”
The most ludicrous thing about them was that, although the most timid and cowardly creatures in the world, they seemed the most impertinent things that ever lived. Knowing that their holes afforded them a perfectly safe retreat, they sat close beside them; and as the hunters slowly approached, they elevated their heads,
